


Lead Me to the Truth

by EmynIthilien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Post - A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sansa saves a king and finds that some dreams aren’t so silly after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lead Me to the Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phoenixflame88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflame88/gifts).



> This fic was written for the 9th round of got_exchange on livejournal in response to the following prompt: Stannis/Sansa; Sansa is the one who saves Stannis, through guile, diplomacy, surprise support, whatever (just not warriorqueen!Sansa please). They can be in a relationship already but bonus points if they’re not. The level of romance is up to the writer, as is what/who she saves him from.

King Stannis Baratheon was former King Robert Baratheon’s opposite in every way. And that was the impression Sansa got from just having _looked_ at each man. When Sansa had last seen him in King’s Landing, Robert was lounging in a gilt chair wearing fine clothes, his long black beard wild and fleshy cheeks red as he laughed and called for more wine. Now in the King’s Tower at the Wall, Stannis was sitting straight-backed in a simple wooden chair, and his plain woolen clothes seemed to be made of plate mail given how stiffly he held himself. What little black hair Stannis had left was cut severely short, and his flesh was stretched so thin on his face that the outline of a skull could be seen if one stared hard enough. Sansa wondered if the man knew what laughter was, or if he was physically capable of smiling.

“Lady Lannister. For what reason have you come to the Wall?”

“Your Grace, Lady Stark is here to…”

“Lord Davos, when I need your words I’ll ask for them. I’d have the girl speak for herself. Well?” Stannis’ dark blue eyes bored into her, and Sansa felt like she might crumble if she had to endure his harsh stare or listen to his cold voice for much longer. _At least his eyes aren’t cruel like Joffrey’s, and they don’t leer at me like Littlefinger’s did. And Jon respects the king, says that he’s fair and just and that he’ll hear me out._

Sansa thought back to the reunion with her half _and remaining_ brother that had occurred mere moments before. It had been as sweet as she had imagined it to be, back in the Vale when she learned that Jon had been elected Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Jon was strikingly different from the boy she remembered at Winterfell, for he had grown into a man who reminded Sansa so much of father that she couldn’t stop tears from rolling down her cheeks. There was an inherent sadness in his grey eyes and a nasty scar around one of them, so when Jon had hesitated in approaching her, Sansa reached out and traced the scar with an ungloved hand before throwing her arms around him.

“I should not have to repeat myself. What are you doing at the Wall, Lady Lannister? Has your imp husband finally come to offer his family’s support to the rightful king? Lord Snow swears on his life that you’re Eddard Stark’s trueborn daughter, unlike the girl that married Bolton’s bastard.”

Sansa brought her mind back to the man sitting in front of her. “I am no more Lady Lannister that you are, Your Grace, as Tyrion Lannister had the common decency not to force himself on an unwilling child before he murdered his father and fled from Westeros.”

Stannis’ eyebrows rose, ever so slightly. Lord Davos, who was sitting beside Sansa, gave her an encouraging smile that earned him a glare from the king.

“As to what my business is at the Wall? I bring to Your Grace the allegiance of Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor, his vaults of silver and fleet of newly built warships, and the fealty of all the men east of the White Knife. All he asks in return is that a Stark be restored to the lordship of Winterfell and named Warden of the North. You have two Starks to choose, my brother Jon and myself.”

“You mean your bastard brother? I’ve already offered him Winterfell and the Stark name, offers he threw back in my face, though…” Stannis paused and scratched his chin. “That is a thought. Now that Lord Snow’s died once I might convince him to forgo those absurd Night’s Watch vows of his.”

_Jon died? Impossible. I’m not hearing the king clearly, that’s all._

At Sansa’s alarmed expression, Stannis’ mouth twisted. “He didn’t tell you? It was quite an inconvenience, given the chaos that the Wall was temporarily plunged into,” he said with gritted teeth. “Thankfully, Lord Snow saw fit to come back to life and walked out of his own funeral pyre.”

Sansa remained speechless, and the king continued on as if miraculous occurrences of death and rebirth were inconsequential.

“I do grant you thanks, my lady. Though how did you ever get from King’s Landing to the Wall?”

_Through sheer luck. And I was terrified most of the time, but I proved to myself that I could be as strong as my lady mother._ “I…After…When Joffrey was murdered at his wedding, Lord Baelish brought me to the Vale in the guise of his bastard daughter. After revealing myself to some former friends of my father, I was able to escape to White Harbor. There, I met Lord Davos and convinced Ser Wylis Manderly to support your campaign for the Iron Throne.”

Stannis looked to Davos, who nodded to confirm the veracity of her story.

“That story verges on the implausible, but then again I never thought to find myself at the Wall fighting creatures long believed to exist only in children’s tales.” He drummed the fingers of his right hand on his desk. “Do you support my cause because I am the one true king, by rights, of the realm?”

“No.”

“No?” Stannis crossed his arms. “Do elaborate.”

“You’ve fought the enemies of my family, the Lannisters who killed my father and the Freys and Boltons who betrayed by mother and brother Robb. Jon told me about how you saved the Night’s Watch from the wildlings, and how you marched your armies north after the great battle at Winterfell to save the realm from an even greater threat. That means more to me than anyone’s perceived _rights_. So if any man deserves the Iron Throne, you do.”

Stannis’ eyebrows rose again, and he seemed impressed in spite of himself. He idly took a sip from the goblet on his desk, a sip of the same boiled water with salt that she had been offered previously. _Not the most appealing choice of drink, but water is much preferable to the wine that Queen Cersei forced on me._

“You may go, my lady, and we will speak again. I’m sure Lord Snow has already offered you what little hospitality that the Wall can provide, but you are welcome to share your company with my wife and daughter.”

Sansa stood up, bowed, and walked across the room to the door before Stannis made one last request. “Tell the guards that no one is to disturb me for the rest of the evening. It is essential that I speak to my Hand in private.”

“Of course.” Sansa walked though and closed the door, lingering for a moment on the threshold to adjust her cloak. She could still hear the king’s voice through the wood, though this time its tone was entirely different.

“I nearly took Lord-Too-Fat’s head after the battle of Winterfell, Lord Davos, but his claim that you were on a fool’s mission to find a dead Stark boy stayed my hand.”

“I was unsuccessful, though,” responded Davos. “Horrible storms and dead things in the water forced me to return to White Harbor before I was had any luck. Thankfully Lady Stark arrived, giving the Manderlys the Stark they wanted.”

“I’ve had enough Starks for one day, bastard _and_ trueborn ones. These northmen loved Ned Stark as they’ll never love me. They treat Lord Snow as if he’s Stark born again, and they’ll likely love this daughter as much as they did the fake daughter the Boltons fooled everyone with.” Stannis sighed, and Sansa began to walk away again, only stopping when she heard the king speak in a soft voice with a hint of gentleness that she was surely imaging.

“I have missed you, Davos. I am in sore need of your counsel, as always.” There was a pause, and the king’s voice became even softer. “This time I truly believed that Westeros had lost one of its few good men.”

“Not yet, Your Grace, not quite yet,” came the quiet reply.

~

Jon and Ghost were waiting for Sansa at the bottom of the tower. Just as he opened his mouth to greet her, his eyes hardened.

“Lady Sansa,” came a greeting from behind her that sounded like a song.

Sansa turned around and saw fire. It was only after she blinked that she realized the fire was a woman, a woman with flaming red hair and wispy silk robes to match. Her eyes were also as red as Ghost’s, but staring at them left Sansa feeling oddly cold.

“Lady Melisandre.” Sansa bowed her head. The woman before her could be no other, given what she had heard about the priestess from Lord Davos. The ruby hanging from her neck gave out a faint glow.

“I have seen you in my fires, my lady.”

“Your fires?”

“Yes, the medium where the one true god R’hllor grants me visions of the future. For some time now, I’ve been seeing a young girl with hair kissed by fire saving our king amidst ice and snow. Your arrival at the Wall is no surprise to me, and you did save King Stannis, in a way, by delivering him Lord Manderly’s allegiance. However, the king and the Lord Commander doubted that my vision would come to pass.”

Sansa could feel Jon noticeably stiffen beside her, and Ghost bared his teeth as Jon kept a steady hand on the scruff of the wolf’s neck to restrain him if need be. Melisandre observed this with amusement.

“Ser Wylis Manderly sent a raven informing the Wall of my coming. It does not surprise me that King Stannis and my brother put no faith in it until they saw me with their own eyes, given recent events.” Sansa shrugged and looped her arm through Jon’s, hoping to calm him.

Melisandre gave an enigmatic smile. Sansa didn’t know if the smile reminded her more of Queen Cersei or Littlefinger. Either way, she didn’t like it.

“Both men are unbelievers by nature. I hope that you are not the same. It is folly to ignore the Lord of Light in these times of darkness. You are always welcome at my nightfires, Lady Sansa—as is your brother, as I often remind him.”

And so Melisandre disappeared into the King’s Tower. Jon relaxed slightly, once there was no more sight of fiery red silk. He led her around the yard of Castle Black for a while, inquiring about her meeting with King Stannis and asking polite questions about her journey from White Harbor to the Wall with Lord Davos. No mention was made about the time Sansa had spent in King’s Landing or the last time Sansa had seen father or the fact that Jon had supposedly _died_ , but she didn’t blame him. _There will be time enough to talk about tragedy, and we’ll be forced to endure more of it soon enough._

However, Sansa couldn’t shake the encounter with Melisandre from her mind. Davos had talked of the priestess as little as possible, and now Jon seemed uncomfortable around her.

“What do you think of Lady Melisandre?”

“She’s very devoted to her god,” said Jon carefully.

“Even a blind man could see that. Do you trust her?”

“No. But just because I lack faith in her or her god doesn’t mean that I completely discount her. She sees things in her fires.”

“Do her visions really tell the future?”

“No, but they’re not completely wrong either. Melisandre’s fires were right about the fact that I would be stabbed to death, but they failed to show her that I’d walk out of my funeral pyre alive. She also told me, _convinced_ me that Arya was riding to Castle Black to escape an unwanted marriage. A girl _did_ ride to Castle Black to escape a marriage, but it was only Alys Karstark.”

Jon’s voice was sad, heartbreakingly so. And it wasn’t when he had been talking of his own death. _No wonder he didn’t believe the raven or Melisandre’s vision that I was coming to the Wall._ Sansa was reminded of the fact that she wasn’t the only one who had been helpless when the deaths—no, _murders_ —of her family had happened one after another. First father, then Bran and Rickon, then Robb and mother, and who knew what had happened to Arya.

“You wish I was Arya, don’t you?”

Jon looked away from her for a long time, burying his right hand in Ghost’s fur. His silence seemed to answer her question, and Sansa willed herself not to feel anything. _I know that I can be as strong as my lady mother, but did she ever tire of being strong?_ However, Jon didn’t remain silent forever.

“No, because that would mean I wouldn’t know where you were.” He turned and paused, reaching out his scarred hand to lightly touch the end of her long braid. “Little sister.”

Sansa didn’t know if Jon was speaking the truth. Growing up, he and Arya had adored one another, while Sansa had spent little time with him in the hope of pleasing her mother and septa. And it was Arya who Jon had always called “little sister,” never her, not like Sansa had cared then. But the more she looked at Jon, with his small smile and eyes so full of sincerity…Sansa chose to believe him.

~

Winter had long since come to the Wall, and with it fear, wights, and White Walkers. Castle Black was filled almost to capacity, hosting the last strength that the North could offer, along with all the wildlings and the men who had sailed north with the king. The short days were filled with the sounds of the ringing of swords as soldiers and every other type of man trained, and a veritable army was combing through the ancient texts of the old library, looking for references to the Others and ways to defeat the frozen creatures.

Sansa was given rooms in Hardin’s tower, whose only occupants were the wildling woman Val and Wun Wun the giant. Jon would break his fast with her every morning without fail, Ghost always silently at his side. The direwolf never strayed far from his master, save to hunt or serve a stint as one of Sansa’s many guards—for though Sansa had freedom of the castle, Jon insisted that she go everywhere with a guard. She might be the Lord Commander’s sister and the unofficial Lady Stark of Winterfell, but titles meant nothing if desperate men were determined to have their way.

As for the mood at the Wall? Fear was as rampant as frustration. Neither the king nor the lords and commanders could make a decision on how to proceed, and Melisandre preached nightly about the approach of the Great Other. Jon told Sansa all that he knew of their situation, and he never failed to answer her questions.

“The men are always talking about how much King Stannis likes you. But all you two seem to do is argue.”

Surprisingly, that caused her brother to laugh. Sansa couldn’t fathom what was so amusing about her statement.

“Of course there are disagreements. And not just between Stannis and I, though he doesn’t seem to care about offending me much. I can’t very well desert him and march the Night’s Watch south, while these other lords and their armies can. No one has fought the Others and lived to tell the tale, so there’s no telling _what_ we should do to either protect ourselves or defeat them!”

Truly, it was Lady Melisandre who unnerved Sansa as much as the looming threat of the Others. She just couldn’t put her finger on _why_ , exactly. There was something unnatural about the priestess, from how she could walk around in the snow and ice with nothing filmy silks to her mysterious way of speaking. Everything that occurred was foreseen in her fires, apparently—every unexplained death, every snowfall, and every attack of an Other or undead wight. No one dared question her outright, and Sansa had spent enough time around Joffrey and Queen Cersei to know that Melisandre owed the majority of her power to the fear she inspired in others. And this kind of fear wasn’t rooted in respect.

~

King Stannis did make good on his claim that he would speak with Sansa again. As blunt and unforgiving as his words usually were, he was less unpleasant than his wife. Queen Selyse always welcomed Sansa’s company, but she spent too much time trying to convince Sansa either to attend Melisandre’s nightfires or to marry one of her knights. _And gods know the last thing I need right now it to be forced into yet another marriage_. Today, Ghost was serving as Sansa’s guard, not that it mattered. The law might stop at the Wall, but the king would never dare disregard basic propriety and approach an unmarried young woman alone.

Stannis wore black—it was always black. If it weren’t for his golden cloak trimmed with black fur, Sansa might have thought him a brother of the Night’s Watch. Though no brother of the Night’s Watch was so perpetually grim. Or ground his teeth quite so often.

“If I may ask, my lady, why did you elect to come to this frozen wasteland instead of staying in the safety and luxury of White Harbor?”

“Don’t you already know?”

“No, and I do not play at guessing games. Tell me straight out.”

“I came to the Wall because my brother was here,” said Sansa simply. “Wouldn’t you want to see your brothers one last time, Your Grace, if they were still alive?”

Stannis ground his teeth, harder than usual if that was even possible.

“You seem to love your bastard brother more than most people love their trueborn brothers.”

“Why wouldn’t I love him? Jon is my only family left, and he cares for me despite any unkindness I showed toward him when we were younger. Once I held it against him that he was a bastard, but I soon realized that it was foolish of me to hold such a grudge.”

Sansa enjoyed having the opportunity to get to know Jon as she never had at Winterfell, and it was comforting to be able to talk about her family with someone who could understand the magnitude of her loss. However, Sansa felt guilty about occasionally wishing that Jon was a different brother so she could talk about her mother. To be sure, Jon would likely be patient and never say a harsh word against Lady Catelyn Stark. But where father always saw him as a Stark and treated him as such, mother only ever saw him as a Snow.

Stannis’ jaw remained clenched, as if hearing Sansa talk about Jon offended him. Sansa didn’t know what to make of it.

“Didn’t you love your brothers, Your Grace?”

“You overstep yourself, my lady,” Stannis shot back, eyes flashing. “That matter is none of your concern.”

“I meant no insult,” answered Sansa quickly, hoping that the king could hear the sincerity in her voice. Ghost’s ears perked up in attention. Stannis eyed the wolf before studying her a long moment, eventually responding:

“I was loyal to Robert. I loved Renly once. They would both still be alive if they hadn’t trusted in the wrong people or claimed a throne that wasn’t theirs.”

Coming from anyone but the king, Sansa would’ve considered that a poor answer. _How can one not know if he loves his own brothers?_ But Sansa believed that she was hearing the truth.

~

Lady Melisandre was planning a ceremony to honor the Lord of Light. Not just any ceremony like the ones she hosted every night, but a grand feast beyond the Wall that would weaken the Great Other once for all. Or so she claimed. The group of faithful attending her nightfires grew every night, or perhaps the men simply felt safer around a huge bonfire that would change in color and shape as the priestess led her prayers. Sansa knew that Jon never attended, and the same with Lord Davos, but rumor had it that the king’s attendance was lacking as of late. Jon claimed it was because Stannis spent too much time in war councils and brooding over maps. Davos remarked that the king saw any religious ceremony as a frivolous waste of time. Men who had been in their cups too long laughed that Good King Stannis was having a lover’s spat with his true queen.

Sansa didn’t know what or who to believe. Along with her frequent nightmares of Joffrey gleefully calling for father’s head, Melisandre’s fiery image began to appear, always whispering: _I have seen you in my fires, my lady._

~

The day before Melisandre’s feast, Sansa sought out her brother, who was in the storerooms haggling with some stewards over the barrels of wine that had been personally earmarked by the priestess. Jon was refusing to let the last of the good southron wine be used, and the stewards were having trouble meeting his eyes.

“The lady insisted that she was carrying out King Stannis’ orders.”

“The Hand of the king is the only other person who can speak with the king’s voice. Even drunk, you should see that Lady Melisandre isn’t Lord Davos—who has the prudence not to be wasteful in times of war.”

“Yes, m’lord, but…”

“But what? She saw your death in her fires, and so you let her do as she pleased in hopes that the visions would not come to pass?” The stewards bowed their heads and stared at the ground as Jon continued. “Even with her wisdom she cannot see all ends. She saw _my_ death, but what of it? I’m still here.”

With that, Jon gratefully took Sansa’s proffered arm and let her lead him out into the courtyard.

“Do you know what your men have been saying behind your back?” she asked him pointedly.

“That I’m a half a wildling, half a wolf, and half a wight? No man can have so many halves, Sansa. Surely you don’t give credence to such rumors?”

“Well, you _are_ half a wolf, just like I am. Just be careful that they aren’t saying anything more.”

Jon just shook his head, muttering: “They’re too frightened of me, ever since I walked out of my funeral pyre.”

Sansa acted like she hadn’t heard, for everything that had happened to her brother on the Wall frightened her too. “I have to ask you: You’re not attending Melisandre’s feast, are you?”

“Why in the name of the old gods would I?” He furrowed his brows. “Her red god is nothing to me, and likely he’s told Melisandre to burn another weirwood grove or something of the like. I still can’t believe she’s getting away with using inordinate amounts of food and drink.”

“As Lord Commander, can’t you stop her from using the supplies?”

“Of the Night’s Watch. Regrettably, I do not control the supplies of other lords. Even your Manderly friends from White Harbor have given her what she’s asked of them.”

“But you’re not forbidding any of your men to go.”

“The Night’s Watch is made up of men from all over the realm, men who grew up believing in many different gods. It’s not my place to tell my brothers where they should or should not put their faith.”

Sansa gave a sigh of relief.

“You look pleased, little sister. Why is that?”

_I hope he never stops calling me little sister._ “I have a feeling that Melisandre is up to something, something sinister. The king should be warned about her. Perhaps he can put a stop to her feast.”

“Can you prove that Melisandre means anyone harm?”

“No,” said Sansa unfortunately. _And I can’t prove that my nightmares of her mean anything more, either._

Jon gave a sigh of his own and ran a hand through his dark hair. “As much as I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, King Stannis will require hard facts before he can be convinced of anything. So if you deem the matter important enough, tell him a truth he can’t refute.”

Jon’s advice was easier said than done. Lord Davos couldn’t add anything more helpful, except a warning never to try and kill Lady Melisandre. Sansa couldn’t imagine a man like Davos ever trying to kill anyone, which made her wonder why he would give such a suggestion.

Sansa found King Stannis sitting in his solar, making notes on a sheet of brittle parchment as he consulted a stack of books. Among the titles, Sansa could make out many supply ledgers. He looked up after he had bid his guards to let her enter. “My lady. To what matter do I owe your presence? Does the Lord Commander wish to speak with me?”

“I wish to speak with you about Lady Melisandre.”

“Speak, then.” His quill continued scratching.

“I advise you against attending her upcoming ceremonial feast, and as king you should put a stop to it altogether. I do not trust her intentions.”

Stannis looked irritated. “With the Others north of us, more enemies far south, and rumors of the Long Night approaching, you see fit to inform me that you distrust one of my advisors.”

“Yes.”

“You’re as bold as Lord Snow. I am tempted to dismiss you, but it’s my duty to at least hear your reasoning.”

“You _are_ planning on going to her feast, then?”

“It is expected of me.”

“Not because you believe in Lady Melisandre’s god?”

Stannis narrowed his eyes, set down his quill, and crossed his arms. “All gods are made by men, and all the justice and goodness that supposedly flows from them are due to men as well. It matters not to me if my men decide to worship the Seven, a fire god, or a tree—so long as they remain loyal. My own Hand devoutly follows the Seven, and I trust him as I do none other.”

“Then why…”

Stannis cut her off. “Lady Melisandre has served me well. My men will not fear her as they do if I appear not to support her. And I need their fear if I am to have their continued support. So tell me, my lady, why do you distrust her?”

_The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy._ Cersei had told her that once, during the Battle of the Blackwater, but Sansa had always believed that love was a surer route to loyalty than fear. While Sansa wasn’t certain that all of Stannis’ men loved him, she _did_ know that he had gained the respect of the northern lords, the mountain men, and the wildlings by coming to the Wall and vowing justice for Lord Eddard Stark. And respect was much closer to love than fear.

“Because Lady Melisandre is acting exactly how Queen Cersei acted when you attacked King’s Landing. Cersei hosted a great feast in her chambers, making sure to get all those who gathered to her drunk so they wouldn’t fall into hysterics. Melisandre is doing the same, if the barrels of wine she’s accumulating are any indication. But Cersei was also determined not to be captured alive by your forces, for Ser Ilyn Payne was there to kill her—and me—if the battle went ill.”

“It did go rather ill,” Stannis muttered, grinding his teeth. He considered Sansa’s words, with more than a little skepticism. “You think that Melisandre plans to kill all those who attend her feast, so the Others can’t get to them first?”

“If the creatures can’t be defeated, would it not be better to die on our own terms?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Haven’t you been listening to what she’s been preaching at her nightfires?”

Stannis frowned. “Aye, I listen to what she preaches. But that doesn’t mean I always believe her. Things aren’t that desperate. Yet.”

“Melisandre seems to think so.”

“You seem determined to dislike Lady Melisandre, Sansa Stark. As I’ve told Lord Davos many a time, you wrong her when there is no indication that she deserves it.”

“She’s burned people alive.”

“She’s burned traitors.”

“Were all of the men traitors? I’ve heard differently.” _Tell him a truth he can’t refute._ “She wanted to burn an innocent child alive.” Sansa thought of little Monster, posing as Mance Rayder’s son, and of Jon’s tale why he had sent the real son of the King Beyond the Wall south.

“Lord Davos should learn to hold his tongue when he’s not in my presence,” came the reply. “Lady Melisandre might have wished to sacrifice my nephew, but she never got the chance. Nor did I ever _agree_ or give her express permission to do so.”

_What? Mance Rayder’s son is of no relation to Stannis that I know. Which can only mean…_ Sansa’s eyes widened in horror. _Which can only mean that Melisandre has tried that trick before. On the king’s own blood, no less!_

Given Sansa’s shocked expression, Stannis seemed to realize that she had been referring to a noticeably different occasion. His posture stiffened, though he didn’t say anything more.

“It seems that there are many things I do not know about you, Your Grace,” said Sansa finally, in a voice as cold as the king’s often was. “But no matter how well Lady Melisandre has served you in the past, I would never stop being wary of her. She has some agenda of her own, and there’s no way to truly know that she doesn’t mean you harm.”

Stannis still didn’t say anything, but Sansa sensed that she had overstayed her welcome. She stood up and straightened her skirts. “By your leave, Your Grace, I must return to my rooms.”

The king gave her the slightest of nods and moved to pick up his quill. _He might not have been swayed by me, but it won’t do me harm to say one more thing:_

“Your men do not support you simply because they fear you.”

Stannis’ deep blue eyes met hers, and for the first time Sansa thought she saw uncertainty in them.

~

Sansa decided to watch Melisandre’s feast from the top of the Wall. Jon was hesitant to let her, but Sansa insisted, saying that she had been granted freedom of the castle after all.

“Take Ghost, then,” conceded Jon. “And be courteous to anyone else you find there.” He didn’t elaborate any more, although Sansa caught his meaning soon enough. King Stannis and Princess Shireen were on top of the Wall, clad in gold cloaks when Sansa stepped off the winch cage. Ghost silently followed her. Shireen was holding a slender bronze spyglass, focusing it far below at Melisandre and her faithful gorging on a decadent feast. The king was standing stiffly, hands behind his back and eyes fixed at some indeterminate point north.

Before Sansa could decide to walk in the other direction, Ghost loped forward and greeted the princess with a nudge at her hip. Shireen laughed as her father never did, shifting her focus from the feast to ruffle Ghost’s fur. Her black hair was twisted in a braid that fell over her shoulder, partially obscuring the grayscale on her right cheek. _Even without the grayscale no one will ever consider her pretty, which is a shame as she’s a sweet girl, if a bit too serious for someone her age._

Shireen’s attention naturally shifted from Ghost to Sansa, and she called out a warm greeting. “Lady Sansa! Isn’t the view from here breathtaking? I can see for miles!”

“The Wall was not built so the Night’s Watch could enjoy a nice view, Shireen; it was built for protection,” said Stannis rather severely. His attention had also shifted to Sansa, and all Sansa could think about was their last conversation and the flash of uncertainty in the king’s eyes.

“Of course, father,” replied Shireen, looking at her feet.

Stannis was still staring steadily at Sansa, his face devoid of emotion.

“I did not expect to see you here, Your Grace.”

“I thought it prudent to show my daughter what the realm looks like from the top of the Wall. She will be queen of it one day, if I do not have a son.” Stannis said nothing more, and Sansa resisted the temptation to ask about Melisandre. Fortunately, Shireen had no such reservations in mentioning the priestess.

“Father did not think it wise for me to go beyond the Wall, and so he told Lady Melisandre to demand that R’hllor order a feast _south_ of the Wall if she wished him to be present. I’ve never seen her so angry before, now even when cousin Edric left Dragonstone during…”

“That’s enough, Shireen,” said Stannis in a level voice, finally taking his eyes from Sansa. “Lady Stark likely does not want to hear any more about Lady Melisandre or your uncle Robert’s bastards.”

_Stannis listened to me. For better or worse, or if he’ll ever let himself admit it, Stannis listened to my warning and decided not to follow Melisandre’s demands after all._

“I can see mother down there, sitting on Lady Melisandre’s right,” started Shireen, her eye pressed against the fine lens of the scope. “There’s a toast now, and everyone is raising their goblets.” Her hands began to shake.

“Do not _drop_ that Myrish spyglass. Lord Snow let you borrow it, and you will not return it to him in pieces.”

“Yes, father,” answered Shireen absentmindedly.

And so Sansa stood in relative silence with the king and his daughter, watching the land beyond the Wall. She assumed that she was welcome, for Stannis would have already dismissed her if her presence was unwanted.

Suddenly, Sansa felt a sharp tug on her cloak as Ghost was trying his hardest to drag her away from the edge of the Wall. She was about to admonish the wolf when she a large fire in the snow, right where the feast had been occurring moments before. Sansa had never seen such a fire, a fire so red it was unearthly, with flames spiraling so high they threatened to reach the top of the Wall. She wondered how it compared to the wildfire on Blackwater Bay that Lord Davos had confessed he still had nightmares about. The Myrish spyglass went tumbling from Shireen’s hands and she turned and hugged her father, burying her face in his chest. Stannis barely reacted to Shireen, standing still as a statue with his eyes fixed on the large fire below.

_There were so many people there_ , thought Sansa in horror. _So many good men who thought they were simply going to a feast._ Sansa looked back at Shireen, who was holding on to her father even tighter. _And her mother was there, gods be good._

Sansa couldn’t hear any screams—just the howling of the wind. When a party ventured beyond the Wall once all the flames had died away, all that remained of the feast and its guests were piles of ash.

~

The horror of Melisandre’s last actions took a long while to die away, and it would’ve lingered indefinitely had not the Others been waiting in the wings. There was no longer any queen, Queen’s men, or queen’s ladies, all having been incinerated in the fire along with all the rest of Melisandre’s new converts. Jon now smiled as much as the king, while Lord Davos did his best to keep morale up with chilling speeches about vengeance. King Stannis was grimmer than ever, fueled by a renewed determination to finish the Others once and for all.

Stannis hadn’t spoken to Sansa since their meeting on the Wall that fateful day. Maybe a different girl would feel slighted, wanting acknowledgement that her suspicions about Lady Melisandre had been true all along. But Sansa was simply glad that she had been able to accomplish some small measure of good. She hadn’t convinced the king to stop the feast, but her intervention _had_ prevented him and Princess Shireen from going—and that had made all the difference.

One dark and windy morning, Lord Davos informed Sansa that Stannis wished to speak with her.

“I’ve been trying to get him to do so for quite some time,” confessed Davos.

“What would he have to speak to me about? Shireen likes my company, as she has since I met her.”

Davos shook his head. “In some ways, you’ve been a more successful Hand than I have, and I’ve known His Grace for close to twenty years.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “I do not understand your meaning.”

“You got Stannis to distrust and defy Melisandre, Sansa, a feat I’ve been trying to do for a long time. You must have said something extraordinary.”

“I didn’t say anything extraordinary. I just told King Stannis the truth.”

At that Davos laughed, a wonderful laugh full of mirth devoid of any mocking. “But the truth _is_ extraordinary, Lady Sansa!” Sansa couldn’t help but smile back, and not for the first time Sansa wondered how Stannis had ever come to trust a man so kind and so utterly as unlike himself as Davos Seaworth.

Her smile disappeared, however, once she approached the king, who was brooding at the top of the King’s Tower, focused on a point away from the Wall. Despite the bitter cold, his hands were ungloved as they gripped the stone battlements.

“I owe you an apology, Lady Stark,” he said without turning around.

“Whatever for?”

“You know very well of what I speak. You advised me to be wary of Lady Melisandre and her intentions, and I doubted you at the time. I owe you my life.”

“I only did what anyone else would’ve done, if they believed their king to be in danger.” Ironically, Sansa realized that Melisandre’s vision of her _had_ come to pass, just not in the way the priestess had thought. The girl with hair kissed by fire hadn’t saved the king amidst ice and snow solely by bringing him more military support.

Stannis gave a harsh, bitter laugh. “I would like to meet this ‘anyone.’ The only man to have said a word against Melisandre to my face has been Davos, and unfortunately I’ve been dismissing his views often as of late because I know he’s inherently biased against her. All other men to have disliked the priestess only said so behind closed doors when they believed I wasn’t listening, including your brother. While I might not have appreciated it, I would have at least _listened_ to them, as I did to you.”

Sansa wished that Stannis would tell her _why_ he’d decided to heed her warning, but that was asking too much. She was grateful enough for the apology, which must have cost him no small amount of pride. “Thank you,” she said. Stannis seemed bewildered at her response, as if no one had ever thanked him for anything before. “Will this change your fight for the Iron Throne?”

“Why would it? Just because a mysterious woman isn’t around to proclaim me Azor Ahai reborn doesn’t change the fact that I’m still the rightful king of Westeros. I will do my duty and protect the realm, then ride south and win my throne.”

He fell silent, continuing to stare south. Sansa wondered if that was the signal for her to leave, but the basic courtesies that her mother and septa had taught her compelled her stay longer to say:

“I am sorry about the loss of your wife, Your Grace.”

Stannis finally turned and looked at her suspiciously, as if doubting the sincerity of her words. “You’re just saying that because you think you have to.”

“Truly, I am sorry,” repeated Sansa, stepping to the battlements and standing as close to the king as she dared. _Maybe I did say that because it’s kind to offer sympathy, but I did mean it. Joffrey was too stupid to recognize the false courtesies I told him, which made it so easy to lie to him. But I will never lie to Stannis Baratheon. Not only because he’d see right through me, but because he’s done nothing I know to deserve it._

Stannis sighed and eventually began to speak again. “I am too, for my daughter’s sake. No child should ever witness the death of a parent. She now has more in common with me than I ever wanted her to.”

Sansa wondered if the king would elaborate, and to her surprise he did.

“When I was not much older than Shireen, I saw my parents drown before my very eyes. Robert and I were eagerly awaiting our parents’ return from a long voyage to the Free Cities, so we climbed to the top of Storm’s End’s tallest tower and competed to see who could spot their ship first. Robert saw the ship first, of course, but I was the one who saw a gigantic wave dash it against the rocks of Shipbreaker Bay. There was nothing Robert and I could do but watch in horror. He grabbed and held on to my hand so tightly that I was convinced every bone in it would break.” 

The king’s hands were now gripping the battlements of the tower as if he wished to crush them, and it looked to Sansa as if Stannis was reliving the memory, so pained was his face. “I can still hear the screams,” he continued. “I have fought in many a battle and have seen men die before me, but I know that there is nothing in the world as horrifying as the feeling of being helpless to stop the deaths of those who you love.”

_So Stannis has loved someone in his life after all_. Sansa pushed the thought from her mind. _I know that he loves his daughter, even if he isn’t very affectionate with her. Father wasn’t always affectionate, either, but that never made me doubt his love._

Sansa opened her mouth to say something comforting, but before any thoughts could reach her tongue, Stannis cut her off with a harsh voice.

“I don’t need your condolences or your pity. That shipwreck happened long ago, and nothing will ever change the fact that it happened.”

“I do not pity you. But you do need to know that you not alone in experiencing such a tragedy.”

Sansa moved a step closer to him, wanting Stannis to give her his full attention.

“I saw kill the Lannisters kill my father. Everyone, _everyone_ thought that King Joffrey would pardon and sentence him to the Wall, but instead Joffrey called for father’s head while Janos Slynt and Ilyn Payne eagerly rushed to carry out the order. I tried to cover my face with my hands, but my whole body froze and I couldn’t look away.”

She had Stannis’ full attention now, and for once Sansa didn’t feel like crumbling under his intense stare.

“I don’t begrudge you, Your Grace, for standing on the tower of Storm’s End when you did, but at least you had someone there to hold your hand.”

The king made a jerky movement with his right hand toward Sansa’s, as if he meant hold it as well. He thought better of his decision, however, instead clasping his hands tightly behind his back. Sansa let out a breath she never knew she was holding.

“Your brother executed Slynt shortly after I first arrived at the Wall, Lady Stark, citing insubordination. Lord Snow even swung the sword himself.”

“I know. I shouldn’t take heart in more death, but learning of Slynt’s demise gave me immense satisfaction. He deserved his fate.” Sansa didn’t quite recognize the vicious edge to her voice.

“I agree. Which is why I didn’t interfere with Lord Snow’s judgment.”

“By your leave, Your Grace.” And with that, Sansa turned and walked down the spiraling staircase of the King’s Tower. If Sansa had looked back, however, she would have seen Stannis’ gaze following her. And in the days to come, when the king would consult with his commanders on the top of the Wall, his eyes would often stray south to her tower rather than north to the evils beyond.

~

King Stannis began inviting her to dine with him in the evenings—always accompanied by her brother, of course. She noticed a subtle change in how he addressed her. He had only called her “Lady Lannister” the once, but “my lady” had morphed into “Lady Stark.” Stannis always met Sansa’s eyes when he spoke to her, and he seemed interested in what she had to say. Not that the king wouldn’t ever scoff at or disagree with her, but at least he considered her words.

Eventually, one of the literate knights tasked with combing the library for Others references stumbled across a book titled _Thee Longe Nightye_ , a translation of a translation of a translation of an account written of the event by a companion to Azor Ahai himself. The long-dead maester who had painstakingly penned the latest translation spent half the book describing the evolution of Westeros’ primary languages since the time of the Andals and the First Men, justifying many of his choices. But once the academic babble was finished, the text that remained turned out to be more valuable than a thousand Valyrian steel swords. Who the Others were, what they wanted, and how to defeat them were described in detail, as well as where the Night’s Watch had buried an armory of dragonglass weapons. Azor Ahai was described as an ordinary man—though incredibly charismatic—who led the charge against the Others not with a flaming sword, but with a dragonglass sword and a torch.

King Stannis was now in his element, planning to eliminate the Others once and for all using _Thee Longe Nightye_ as his guide. All the northern lords, mountain men, king’s men, wildlings, and of course the Night’s Watch joined in, arming their men with dragonglass swords found in a chamber under the Nightfort. Armies marched beyond the Wall, and just when Sansa thought they had gone the way of Melisandre, astonishing things began happening: the snows stopped as the days became warmer, the sun shone longer each day, and wildflowers began to bloom in the forests around Castle Black. And the best thing of all was watching Jon and King Stannis ride back through the Wall side by side—unscathed, with most of their men, and _triumphant._

~

The men at the Wall were allowed one night of celebration for the defeat of the Others. Sansa wagered that they would have kept on celebrating for weeks on end if it weren’t for the king, who insisted that extensive revelry had no place when the war was only half won. The pretenders on the Iron Throne still had to be dealt with, of course, and that required deliberate planning and tying up of loose ends. Sansa quickly realized exactly _how_ deliberate Stannis’ planning was.

A top priority was to appoint a loyal Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. _A no brainer_ , Sansa thought. It was obvious that King Stannis wanted to legitimize Jon and hand him the titles, and so did the northern lords, given Jon’s astute leadership in the battle against the Others. Not to mention that Jon was a son of the now legendary Eddard Stark. However, her brother took issue with that, leading to one of the first arguments Sansa ever recalled having with him:

“You’ll make a good Lord of Winterfell, Jon.” Silence followed Sansa’s statement. “And _why_ is Ghost barring his teeth at me?”

Jon gave a cursory glance to his wolf, making no move to admonish him.

“That’s what the king and father’s lords have been saying. They even had the gall to bring up the fact that I’m no longer legally bound to the Night’s Watch anymore, having served it ‘until my death.’ Winterfell’s _yours_ , Lady Sansa Stark. I’m only a bastard lucky enough to be raised by my actual father. I’m not the kind of man to usurp the birthright that by rights belongs to you. Or Bran and Rickon, if they’re still alive somewhere.”

“Isn’t Winterfell what you want, though?” she pressed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed of being father’s heir.”

Jon looked pained, and Sansa knew that she wasn’t far from the truth. Though he was too stubbornly noble to openly admit it.

“Make a decision, Sansa. Then I can be at peace regarding this matter.”

Ghost gave Sansa one last view of his many teeth, leaving Sansa is distress. It was absurd, really, that she should feel so upset over who would inherit a title when so many terrible events had just and would likely occur in the future. As much as Sansa had grown up in the years since leaving Winterfell as a naïve little girl, she still felt like running to her mother’s arms and being told that _sweetling, everything will be okay._

Lord Davos was the one who found her sitting by the fireplace in her rooms. Sansa supposed that the Hand was a good enough substitute. He had never been anything but kind and considerate toward her.

“You look troubled, Lady Sansa. Might I be of help?”

“Will you listen to me?”

“Aye. Listening I can do.” He took a seat in the chair next to her, stretching out his fingers (or what was left of them, anyway) toward the fire.

“King Stannis is arguing my brother again.”

“I have faith that Lord Snow will survive the night. I’ve argued with the king since he was the Lord of Storm’s End’s younger brother, and I still have my head.”

“But Jon also argued with me, and I can’t ever remember having an argument with him before. And I know that you know what the quarrel was about.”

“I deem that Lord Snow’s anger will burn itself out soon enough. He’s just a young man who has to figure out what he truly wants, first. And so do you.”

“Me? What do I have to do with Jon’s decision?”

“You’re by rights the Lady of Winterfell,” said Davos simply. “Jon will never take those rights away from you. His sense of honor runs too deep for that, the same honor that also ran in the veins of your father. Even His Grace—for all that he professes that Eddard Stark was no friend of his—would never deny that.”

“I might be Lady of Winterfell by rights, but I would still only be the _Lady_ of Winterfell. Jon has as much Stark blood as I do, and the only thing that’s held him back in life is the fact that he has no relation to the Tullys of Riverrun.”

Sansa looked at Davos.

“I doubt the men of the North will care about that, not when Jon seems” _and is_ , Sansa told herself, “like a Stark hero of old, complete with a Valyrian steel sword slung across his back and a direwolf running by his side.”

“That doesn’t mean that you’re not just as important.”

“Do you see me as a Queen of Winter, with a crown of ice gracing my head?” Sansa gave a small laugh. Davos didn’t say anything.

“I don’t _want_ to be the ruling Lady of Winterfell. Growing up, I simply wanted to marry a handsome prince from the songs. Though I now know that some princes are monsters, I still want to marry and have a family more than anything. Being a ruler has never been my goal, outside of managing my husband’s household and any other duties he wishes me to perform.”

The logs in the fireplace crackled.

“Let Jon have all the responsibilities of that come with being Lord of Winterfell, for I always believed one of my brothers would follow in my father’s footsteps. As Lady of Winterfell, men will want to marry me for my name above anything else. I want to be loved for a reason other than because I’m a Stark, and maybe if I’m only the sister of the Lord of Winterfell I’ll have a better chance of that coming true.”

Davos smiled at her, but for all his kindness Sansa wondered if Davos pitied her.

“Oh gods, I still sound like a silly girl wishing for her life to end like a song.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” replied Davos seriously. “You simply want what most people want—a happy marriage. Just because you want something good to happen to you doesn’t make your wish silly.” He laced his fingers together and folded his hands on his lap.

“You should tell him all that you said to me.”

“Who? King Stannis?”

Davos’ mouth twisted, and Sansa could sense that he was trying not to laugh.

“As Hand of the king it would be ill-advised for me to speak badly about my liege, but I don’t think Stannis would appreciate your sentimentality—or mentions of songs. At least not yet. His life has been far from any song, but perhaps if he wins this war and things quiet down he’ll…”

“Smile more?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps he’ll find more people to make him smile,” said Davos, now with a curious look as he considered her. “Go on. There’s a pair of wolves brooding on top of the Wall.”

And so there were. Jon was sitting at the base of one of the broken catapults, idly stroking Ghost’s fur. The direwolf was sitting next to his master, and its face looked just as somber.

With a deep breath, Sansa told Jon everything that she had just confessed to Lord Davos, everything about why she didn’t want to be the Lady of Winterfell and the hopes and dreams she still held on to. She finished with: “Lord Davos doesn’t think I’m silly, but do you?”

Jon’s face didn’t give anything away, and in that he reminded her a bit of Stannis. If she hadn’t known her brother to naturally be somber, she also would’ve thought that he’d learned to brood from the king. “Is that what you want Sansa? Truly?”

Sansa slowly nodded, joining Jon in stroking Ghost’s fur.

“Then I’ll honor your decision, and I’ll make sure the king does as well. There are a few concessions I want _him_ to make, for a change. I also must inform my officers that the Night’s Watch will need to elect a new Lord Commander, preferably one who hasn’t already died and come back to life.”

So Sansa sat there awhile on the ice with her brother, the warm wolf between them. It was rather comforting, and she was beginning to learn why Arya had loved Jon so much.

“As a boy I dreamed about father declaring me a true Stark and putting Ice in my hands,” began Jon in a soft voice, knowing that Sansa was listening, “and now that I’m a man grown I’ve acquired a Valyrian steel sword and had the king offer me Winterfell more times than I could count—for both the right and wrong reasons. At first he wanted me to be Lord of Winterfell for his convenience, so he could use the Stark name to win the North to his cause. I guess he still wants me to be Lord of Winterfell for his convenience, but the difference this time is that he sees me for more than just my name. He trusts me to help rebuild the North and rule it fairly as its warden, for I know the area and its customs better than he ever will. He trusts in my ability to lead men and in my readiness to do my duty and carry out the king’s justice and the laws of the realm.”

“You make it sound like Stannis Baratheon is in love with you, Lord Stark.”

Jon opened his mouth in protest as a blush furiously crept up his face.

“Oh, I’m not implying anything in _that_ sense. But he’s fond of you.”

“ _Despite_ the fact that I look like father.”

Sansa frowned. “He doesn’t seem to have liked father very much.”

“That’s an understatement. I think Stannis was jealous of father, though I’d rather face a White Walker again than ask him that.”

“Regardless, the king reminds me of father, in a way.”

“And I don’t?” replied Jon lightly, his mouth twitching.

“You know that you look just like him, Jon. You’re his son in all the ways that matter.”

“I suppose. But it means something coming from you.”

~

Another top priority of King Stannis’ took Sansa by surprise, though the solution to it was far from a no brainer. To her, at least. Immediately after Jon had officially been declared Lord Stark of Winterfell, Stannis paid Sansa a visit in her rooms for the first time. He declined her offer to sit in one of the chairs by the fire, claiming he didn’t have the time.

“I just finished speaking with your brother,” he began in a clipped voice. “I presented a proposal to him, and before I could elaborate further he demanded that I speak to you. And so here I am, not that I’d dare do anything different with that direwolf of his growling at me.”

Sansa had never heard Ghost growl. “What has my brother done to offend Your Grace this time?” She expected a quick response from Stannis. Instead, the rightful king of the seven kingdoms of Westeros paced around the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back as he struggled to find the right words to say. Sansa _did_ catch a couple curses muttered under his breath, but she made no indication that she heard them.

“It is not your want to be Lady of Winterfell, am I correct?” said Stannis finally.

Sansa nodded, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Would you consider becoming the queen of Westeros instead?”

_Oh gods. Now I know where this conversation is going._

“If you take the Iron Throne?” Sansa responded, delaying giving the king a proper answer.

“There is no _if_. I _will_ take the Iron Throne. I have learned from my mistakes at the Battle of the Blackwater, and I defeated those cursed Others. I have need of a queen, and it would be prudent for me to have a male heir. Doubtless you want to be of help to your brother, but eventually the Lord of Winterfell will marry and have no more need of a sister to placate his lords and manage his household.”

“You aren’t commanding him to marry anyone in particular?”

“No. Part of the terms of Jon Snow accepting the lordship of Winterfell was that he could keep his own gods, marry whom he chose, and abdicate the lordship if any of his other trueborn siblings were found alive,” admitted Stannis. Grudgingly. _I guess those were the concessions Jon wanted Stannis to make, and he got them._

“Regardless,” said Stannis, coming to stand directly in front of Sansa and looking her straight in the eye, “I have hoped that my intentions to you have been apparent since that ill-fated feast. If not, then let me make them clear: Lady Sansa Stark, I ask for your hand in marriage.”

_What he’s been doing since Melisandre’s fiery exit—inviting me to dine with him, addressing me by my proper name, listening to my words—that wasn’t the king being polite, but him trying to_ court _me?_ Florian had courted Jonquil by offering her flowers, composing songs about her loveliness, and winning a joust against all odds to crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. Part of Sansa still wished for a man to do those things for her, to make her feel special. Stannis Baratheon would likely battle an Other again before doing those things for any woman.

“Well?”

Sansa blinked. _He cannot expect me to make a decision on the spot like that. If he wants a quick answer, he’ll have to suffer through a few questions of mine._ “Do you wish to marry me for my claim to Winterfell, or because I’m a Stark?” _If he says yes to either of those, I’ll refuse him, everything else be damned._ Sansa had not escaped Tyrion Lannister and the scheming of his despicable family—not to mention Littlefinger and his kisses and plots to marry her to Harold Hardyng—to become bound to yet another man who wanted to use her.

Stannis deemed those fair questions.

“If Winterfell was what I was after, I wouldn’t have offered it to your insolent brother after he’d refused it many times over. If my brother Robert was still alive, the only castle I would care to have lordship over would be Storm’s End, not a cold place so far from the sea.”

“As to your other question,” Stannis paused, plainly uncomfortable and more uncomfortable than he had been while pacing around the room. “I won’t lie and say that your family name means nothing. Your being a Stark is very convenient, and it will help cement the loyalty of the North to my cause. But my proposal wouldn’t be any different if your name was Snow. In challenging Melisandre and resisting her spell, you proved that you aren’t easily daunted or won over. And you did not shy away from telling me an uncomfortable truth. Those are traits that I admire, and reasons why I trust my Lord Hand despite him having humble beginnings.”

_Stannis just compared me to Davos. That must be the highest compliment that he can make._ Sansa’s worries that Stannis wanted to use her as a pawn to his advantage lessened, and she supposed that she’d never escape the weight of her Stark name. Sansa also realized that not once had Stannis made any mention of her looks, and not once since meeting him had his eyes traveled anywhere away from her face when speaking to her. Unlike Joffrey, Littlefinger, Tyrion, or even Cersei. Maybe that meant he wasn’t attracted to her. Or maybe that meant he didn’t care what she looked like. _Still, he sees me as more than just a pretty face._

Stannis wasn’t finished speaking, encouraged by the fact that Sansa still held his eyes.

“Lady Melisandre inspired loyalty through fear, and with your kindness perhaps you can inspire loyalty through…other means. Most importantly, I need a queen who isn’t a simpering fool. That’s why I’m asking you, Lady Sansa.”

_A fool. That’s what I was in King’s Landing when I believed I loved Joffrey and tried so hard to please Cersei. But Stannis never met that girl. He met someone decidedly different._

“I accept.” Sansa’s heart was racing, and her breathing was none too steady either. Still, she kept her composure the best that she could, not looking away from the king lest he think her uncertain of her decision. 

“That’s settled, then.” Stannis swiftly reverted back to his usual stern demeanor, complete with a frown on his face. With a nod, Stannis turned on his heel and quickly walked away.

~

The king’s armies were finishing their last preparations before marching down the Kingsroad and facing whatever awaited them south. Sansa was to stay at Winterfell with Lord Davos and Princess Shireen, overseeing the restoration of the castle while she waited for the outcome of the war. War was no time for weddings, King Stannis had said, and so Sansa was to remain betrothed until it was safe enough for her to travel to King’s Landing. A veritable army of wildlings and mountain men had been stationed at the castle, willingly protecting it temporarily for the new Lord Stark and the King Who had Defeated the Others. All the men seemed optimistic, for after the Others, surely some lions and roses couldn’t be that much of a challenge, right?

Before riding off for good, Jon found Sansa in order to say his goodbyes. The king accompanied him. Sansa approached Jon first, tying a grey ribbon around his arm. It matched his eyes as much as his new grey cloak did.

He fingered the silky material. “What’s this?”

“A favor, of course, like those that ladies give their knights before they ride in a tourney or march off to war.”

“I’m hardly anyone’s knight in shining armor,” said Jon quietly.

“No, but you’re Lord Stark now, a true champion of the North. Come back alive, Jon, that’s all I ask of you.”

“I won’t promise that I’ll come back. But I can promise that I’ll try my hardest, little sister.”

Jon let Sansa hug him, and he blushed when she kissed him fiercely on both cheeks.

Sansa sensed Stannis watching her and Jon from the corner of her eye, silent as Ghost with his face his usual emotionless mask. For once he wasn’t frowning, which Sansa took as a good sign. She wondered what the king would do if she threw her arms around him and kissed him, even in a sisterly fashion as she had just done with Jon. _He’d probably stand as still as a statue and order me to stop clutching him. Our betrothal has nothing to do with love and affection after all, but maybe our marriage will grow to have that. If he’ll let it._

Jon reluctantly pushed Sansa away, letting his hands linger on her shoulders for longer than necessary before letting go. He nodded to her, then pointedly turned his head and walked over to Davos to share a few words, leaving Sansa alone with Stannis. 

If anything, Sansa found this more awkward than when Stannis had proposed to her. Neither said a word for at least a minute as they studied each other, Sansa making note of the grim determination in the king’s deep blue eyes. She could still see the outline of a skull in his face, and his closely cropped black beard did nothing to hide the sharp lines of his jaw. _No maiden will ever mistake King Stannis for a handsome man, but gods do I want him to survive the war as much as I do Jon._ Sansa stood up straighter and finally addressed Stannis, meeting his eyes and choosing her words carefully—but still making sure that they were sincere. She wasn’t going to tie a favor around his arm, for he would only find the gesture silly and frivolous.

“I wish you luck in the South, Your Grace. May you bring justice to those who deserve it and end this war once and for all.”

“That has always been my aim, Lady Sansa,” replied Stannis gravely. “You have my word that I will not waiver from it.”

“I await news of your victory.” Stannis gave a curt nod in response and made to go back to his horse, but before he could turn around completely, Sansa quickly stepped forward, placed her hands on his shoulders, and lightly kissed him on the cheek. She moved back just as swiftly, a shy smile on her face. Instead of yelling or grinding his teeth yet again, King Stannis Baratheon simply stood there, stunned, his face a mixture of shock and surprise.

“That was not…You did not have to do that, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa almost laughed at Stannis’ strangled voice. “I know. But isn’t it a queen’s duty to wish her king well before he rides off to battle?”

“I would never insist that you do such a thing, especially if you did not want to,” he said stiffly.

“And what if I did want to?”

The shock and surprise still remained on Stannis’ face as he seriously considered her question. Slowly, very slowly, the corners of his mouth began to curl up into the first smile Sansa had ever seen from him. Sansa was so focused on Stannis’ smile that she almost missed his words, said with the same hint of gentleness that he had used with Davos the first day she had met him:

“Then by all means, continue doing your duty.”

~

As war waged on in the South, spring was coming back to the North. The wildlings attributed the abrupt change in season to defeat of the Others, who had a knack for bringing winter with them are surely as death. Winterfell was slowly being restored after all the damage wrought by the Boltons and the many battles the castle had seen since Robb had marched south. But with every new stone carved, Sansa felt the hope that she had long since lost in King’s Landing return.

The ravens that Sansa received from the field were few. They were always from Jon and never said much about anything, especially his location or the state of the armies. But all Sansa really cared about reading were his assurances that he, Ghost, and the king were alive and well. She could read those all day.

At last, at long last, after what felt like an eternity, Sansa received the raven that she had fervently prayed for every day in the godswood. Well, the raven hadn’t been addressed to her; it had been addressed to Lord Davos. But it had the king’s seal and blunt words, informing Winterfell that King Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, now officially held the Iron Throne after subduing the Lannisters, Tyrells, Greyjoys, and a young man from Essos styling himself as Aegon Targaryen. Cersei Lannister, among others, was in custody and awaiting trial.

Lord Davos immediately made plans to travel to King’s Landing, and Lord Manderly was to provide a ship especially for the occasion in honor of the soon to be queen. Before leaving Winterfell for what might be many years, Sansa paid a visit to the crypts. Though there would likely never be any bones, Sansa had a stonemason carve a likeness of Robb based on her face. Robb had looked nothing like father, not really, so basing his figure off of the solemn stone face of Lord Eddard Stark in the crypts would not have done him justice.

“Jon will be back soon, and so will Bran and Rickon, if the rumors true,” Sansa told the cold, frozen faces of Robb and her father, hoping that they could hear her, wherever they were. “And Arya will come back, I know she will, and things will almost be as happy as they once were. Please tell mother all this for me.” She turned to father, touching the rough stone of his hand.

“I’m going to be married soon, father. I think you would approve. When I’m queen I’ll make my people love me, and I’ll help King Stannis rule justly and fairly and support him as much as mother did for you.”

~

The steps of the Great Sept of Baelor and a cheering crowd. Though it was her wedding day, it didn’t take much for Sansa to remember the day the innocent little girl within her had died. She had walked out into the crowd back then too, full of hope in a fancy dress on the arm of a handsome king before watching her father’s head come off. Today, Sansa was again wearing a beautiful dress and on the arm of a handsome (to her at least, but that’s probably because Jon looked so much like father) man. But this time she had reason to hope that things would end happily, with King Stannis now on the throne and the Lannisters all dead or fled. Sansa had never told Jon about that day, nor of the place where father had breathed his last. She simply didn’t have the heart to. If Jon _did_ know the significance of these steps, well, not a word was said.

As the guards opened the doors to the Great Sept, Sansa turned to Jon and whispered in his ear:

“Father wanted me to marry someone brave, gentle, and strong.”

Jon smiled, and she followed his eyes to where King Stannis stood waiting at the altar, clad in black armor and a golden crown. Lord Davos stood just behind him, a golden cloak and a smaller crown in his arms.

“I’m not so sure about gentle, but will brave, _just_ , and strong be good enough for you?”

_Father and mother were little more than strangers when they wed, yet they grew to love each other in the end. They were able to bring out the best in each other. Perhaps this marriage won’t be so different._ Sansa grasped Jon’s arm a bit tighter and smiled back.

“Yes, I believe it shall.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. _“She [Queen Selyse Baratheon] hates the cold but loves the flames._ He had only to look at her to see that. _A word from Melisandre, and she would walk into the fire willingly, embrace it like a lover.”_  
>  Jon Snow, _A Dance with Dragons_ Jon X p. 647
> 
> The quote above highlights Selyse’s fervent religious devotion, and historically there have been instances when people committed group suicide in response to religious convictions or an enemy surrounding them. Melisandre’s sect of R’hllorism reads to me very much like a fanatical religious cult, and she does some _highly_ questionable things. I don’t see it out of the realm of possibility that she would do something as radical as she does in this story, if she truly believed her god was telling her to do it. After all, this is the same woman who was adamant in wishing to burn Edric Storm alive to supposedly wake a stone dragon.
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. “And she [Éowyn] did him a courtesy and walked back to the house. But Faramir for a long while walked alone in the garden, and his glance now strayed rather to the house than to the eastward walls.”  
> “The Steward and the King,” _Lord of the Rings: Return of the King_
> 
> The scene where Stannis apologizes to Sansa and subsequently stares at her walking away and in the days that follow it a blatant reference to one of my favorite literary romances, Faramir and Éowyn from _Lord of the Rings._ Faramir looks to Éowyn’s rooms (innocence, goodness) instead of east toward Mordor (evilness, hopelessness) after he first meets her, and I thought it would be rather poetic for Stannis to do the same, with Sansa’s tower and north of the Wall.
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. _Lead me to the truth and I_  
>  Will follow you with my whole life! 
> 
> The title for this story comes from the bridge in the Mumford and Sons song “White Blank Page.” The song really has nothing to do with Stannis/Sansa or the events in this story, except for those lines—and the way they’re sung is outstanding.


End file.
